


your clothes say different on my bedroom floor

by bettycooopers



Series: Barchie Week 2020 [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Post-Season/Series 04, Smut, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettycooopers/pseuds/bettycooopers
Summary: “It reeks in here,” is not the first thing he expects to hear Betty Cooper say to him all summer, but he doesn’t really find himself surprised by much, anymore.-Or, Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper see each other for the first time all summer...and things get heated.
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Series: Barchie Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853623
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	your clothes say different on my bedroom floor

**Author's Note:**

> happy barchie week! apparently i am participating in this charade? welp. thank you [packedyoursaturday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday) for helping me plan almost every day of this bullshit at 2 o'clock this morning. we are perhaps the most productive ~dream team~ a gal could ask for.
> 
> anyway, this happened because the group chat was talking about something too adult for the children's ears and my brain said: but what if they fuck on the bedroom floor. and so it is, brain...and so it is.

“It reeks in here,” is not the first thing he expects to hear Betty Cooper say to him all summer, but he doesn’t really find himself surprised by much, anymore.

He’s lying on his floor in his boxers with all the lights off and a box fan positioned directly at his face. He’s been sweating bullets since noon and he’s guessing it’s close to 4, now, with the way the sun has moved in the sky. The sound of the fan must have drowned out her footsteps coming up the stairs, creaking in the hallway – and he is almost a little annoyed that she’s here at all, sneaking up on him like this after two months.

Two months of having her curtains drawn, of ignoring his texts and calls, of averting her eyes when she saw him around, of overall radio silence. Two months, and now she’s standing over him with her ponytail swinging over her shoulder, her face pinched, complaining that his room smells.

“Air conditioning’s broken,” he says by way of explanation, his voice low and scratchy. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t spoken yet today. He blinks up at her. “Are you actually here?”

She nudges his shoulder with the toe of her flip flop, a frown on her lips. He continues to stare. “Yes, Archie,” she says, after another few moments, an awkward laugh in her throat. “I’m actually here.”

He sits up slowly, feeling the thick air radiating from his window and wrapping around his skin. “Had to check,” he shrugs, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Not exactly used to seeing you around anymore.” He watches her deflate and sighs, looking down at his knees and then lifting his eyes back up to her. “Did you…want something?"

“Archie,” Betty sighs and he watches her look over her shoulder at the door, then back at him, letting out a breath as she moves to sit on the floor next to him, their backs pressed against his bed frame. She’s looking straight ahead as she says, “I…I wanted to talk to you.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, shaking his head. “You wanted to _talk_ to me, now? You’ve avoided me for two months, Betty – _everyone_ has – and now you want to talk?” He sees her flinch and he doesn’t (really) care. “That sounds fair.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” she mutters, and he gapes at her. He lets out another dry laugh and she narrows her eyes at him. “I _haven’t_ , we just…haven’t had the cha--,”

“Don’t come over here pretending like you haven’t looked in the other direction _every_ time you saw me this summer – like you haven’t blocked my number, haven’t kept your window covered. You said you wanted to talk to me, the least you can do is not _lie_.” He doesn’t mean to get mad, and he doesn’t yell, per se, but he’s not being quiet. There’s sweat on his forehead that he feels dripping down into his eyes, onto his nose, but he doesn’t move. 

He keeps his eyes on her until she looks over at him. He can tell she was fully ready to keep this charade up until she sees the look on his face, and he watches as her eyes move over him: the scar between his eyebrows, his eyes, his nose. 

She snaps when she gets to his mouth.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, Arch,” she says, sharply. He watches the way her face shifts – from the vague look of discomfort she’d been wearing to something entirely different, annoyed, frustrated, overwhelmed – and stays quiet. “I was trying…to hold on to things with Jug. I couldn’t just _hang out_ with you, after what happened.”

He swallows. “Okay.” He looks down at his legs. “So, what exactly changed, then, that you’re miraculously _allowed_ to be sitting in my bedroom.”

He thinks only one thing really could have changed, but he needs to hear it from her. 

“I broke up with Jughead,” she says, all in a rush. He takes a minute to untangle her words. He watches her. “I…I,” she swallows hard and he feels his hand moving against his will. He bumps the side of it against her own hand, where it sits in her lap. His little finger brushes over hers. He pulls it back quickly, hating the way he’d noticed the tiny breath she’d taken at his skin touching her own. “I don’t know. I broke up with him…before he left a few weeks ago.” Archie frowns. A few weeks ago? Betty keeps on going, though she’s not really making sense. “I couldn’t…he wasn’t… _we_ weren’t. It wasn’t working anymore.”

“Okay.”

“ _Okay_?”

Archie looks at her. She looks annoyed. “Yes, _okay_. Did you want some kind of award? I could make you a medal out of one of Vegas’s dog biscuits.” Her face sours further. Archie feels like he might laugh, but he’s afraid she might just get up and leave if he does that. Maybe he doesn’t care. He lets out a chuckle, instead, and shrugs. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, Betts. I mean. I could tell you I’m sorry.”

“Arch, I don--,”

“I’m not, though.” He keeps his eyes on hers. “Sorry, I mean. I’m not sorry at all.”

“Archie.” She’s trying to level him with a look, but he just shrugs, not taking the bait.

“What? I’m not. I…do you really want to get into this?”

“Into _what_?”

“Into _this,_ Betty – into him not being good enough for you, into you…and me, I mean – don’t you leave soon?”

“Tomorrow.”

Oh. He feels like he’s been punched in the throat. “Tomorrow?” His voice sounds rough. She nods. Her cheeks are pink. “You waited to tell me about this for…weeks.” She nods. “And now you leave tomorrow?” She nods again. He shuts his eyes. “Okay.”

“Can you learn another word, Archie, god,” she groans, and he feels like he might yell. He’s never really been in the habit of yelling at Betty, not even when they were _really_ mad at each other, but he can’t fucking take this. 

“I’m sorry, forgive me if my _brain_ is taking a few to catch up to the two fucking months of silence and then _bam_ , I broke up with Jug, I’m leaving tomorrow, and I’m telling Archie while he’s dying of _heatstroke_ , alright?! Give me a minute.” He opens his eyes and finds her looking at him. Her eyes are soft. 

“Archie,” her voice is gentle. He shuts his eyes again. He can’t fucking look at her, not when she looks like that.

“What,” he mutters, his eyes still shut. “Can you just tell me what you want?”

“ _Archie_ ,” her voice is closer to him. He can feel her, closer to him, she’s moving— her hand brushes against his knee. “Look at me.”

“No,” he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. “No. Just…talk to me like this.” He hears her let out a soft laugh. The laugh is much closer to him than he thought, he can feel her breath on his face. “Stop laughing."

“Open,” she says, her voice quiet. He takes a breath, opening one of his eyes. She’s sitting back on her knees in front of him, her face close to his. 

“You can’t look at me like that,” he says, his voice low. He opens his other eye and watches as her eyes flick down to his lips. Her fingers ghost over his leg. “Betty.”

“Like what?” She has a tiny smile on her mouth, like maybe she knows what she’s doing. Fuck -- why is he looking at her mouth? He rips his eyes back up to hers. They’re soft and a little smiley, and fuck, he can’t look there either. He looks at her nose. Her ear. She’s moving closer to him, _crawling_ closer to him. He feels himself swallow. “Look at you like what?” She repeats, her breath against his face. 

She’s moving to straddle his lap and he feels his hands move to her hips, his brain screaming at them not to because _what_ _the fuck_. “Like that,” he says, his voice low in his throat. “Like you’re gonna…kiss me, or cry, or both.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice raspy, echoing in his ears. “Why can’t I look at you…like that,” she breathes, and her lips are _so_ close to his that he’s going to pass out. He feels a shiver run through his body, the sweat on his skin drying up. 

“Betty, this is,” his voice is caught in his throat, apparently. “We shouldn’t,” his eyes are _glued_ to her lips and he feels her hands on his shoulders, her nails sliding gently over his skin, “you’re _leaving_.” 

“I know,” she murmurs, her forehead pressed to his, their skin slick as it touches, “which is why…we should.” He finds her eyes, and she’s looking right into his. “I _need_ this, Archie,” she breathes. “I need _you_. I’ve been thinking about it…all summer.”

He blinks at her. She needs this? She needs _him_? “All summer?”

“Maybe…more than that,” she whispers, her lips brushing against his. Before he can respond she has a hand pressed to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Their lips are crashing together and his hand moves to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him as her tongue brushes over his lower lip. 

And fuck, okay, he’s been thinking about this all summer maybe more than that, too. Somehow it’s better than all the thoughts put together. Her nails are digging into his scalp and he’s got his hands slipped up under her shirt, and _fuck,_ the feeling of her skin against his hands isn’t enough. He pulls his lips from hers and yanks at the bottom of her tank top, smirking at the soft moan she lets out as he presses his hands against her torso and slides the shirt off her body. He tosses it behind her and pulls her back against him, growling against her mouth as he kisses her and does his best to ignore the rushing in his head, the ringing in his ears.

She’s raking her fingers through his sweaty hair as he slides his hand around her back and pinches at the clasp of her bra, laughing into her mouth when he feels her gasp against his lips as the back falls open. “S’a rule,” he mumbles, pulling his lips from hers, “we both have to be topless, s’only fair.” He watches as she locks eyes with him and pulls the straps from her arms. His eyes fall to her chest. God, she’s even more gorgeous than he imagined – all flushed skin and curves and _fuck_. He lets out a groan, his head falling back a little and he sucks in a breath as she leans forward and presses her lips to the hollow of his neck. 

“Your rule,” she mutters against his skin, and he lets his hands roam up her sides, “just being _compliant_.” 

“Shut up,” he groans, one of his hands slipping down to her lower back, his fingers playing at the waistband of her shorts. She laughs against his neck, then slides her lips up to his, kissing him again, her hands on either side of his face, holding him still. 

She licks into his mouth, and it’s not as urgent as he would have imagined it to be – they’re both aware that they’ve got time, even if it’s only tonight. This, the topless making out, the hands _everywhere_ , isn’t exactly something they’ve done before…and so he’s glad she’s not in a rush, that she’s using her tongue to explore his mouth, that he’s sliding his hands over skin he’s only ever dreamed about touching. “Arch,” she breathes after a while, pulling back. He takes the opportunity to lift his head and slide his own lips to the hollow of her neck, nipping at her skin. “Arch,” she repeats, her breathing heavy, “I…I’m sorry.”

His brain is fuzzy, but her hands are pressed to his chest and her head is thrown back and her hips are pressing into his, so he’s pretty sure she’s not apologizing as a way to _stop_ this. Still. He’s confused. “Why,” he mumbles, his teeth scraping against a spot on her collarbone, his tongue darting out to smooth over it. He hears her let out a little moan and slides one of his hands down beneath the waistband of her shorts. “Jesus,” he mutters, “are you not,” he presses his face against her neck, not sure if he’s going to be able to speak, “you’re not wearing underwear?”

“ _No,_ ” she groans, almost annoyed, pulling her face back and scratching at the back of his head, making him lift it and look at her. “I...I came over here and I thought if we could just,” she stops, glancing down at their bodies pressed together. Her hips press against his and he bites back a groan, his eyes on her lips. He’s trying to follow her words but _she’s not wearing any underwear_ , so...that’s not exactly helping. 

“You thought,” he swallows, raising his brow at her, “you thought what?”

She stares at him, her eyes wide. Her hand comes around behind her, grabbing his wrist but not pulling it from its spot beneath the band of her shorts. “I thought we could...that you would...it doesn’t matter what I thought, anymore, _Archie,_ it matters that I’m sorry…for everything. I,” he lowers his head back down to her neck, sucking hard at the skin, hoping she’ll lose her train of thought, “ _fuck_. I’m trying to--,”

“Tell me after,” he says, his voice rushed, raw. “ _After_ , okay? We can talk,” he lifts his head and brings his free hand up to her face, tilting it so she’s looking at him. Her eyes are all full. He imagines his own eyes have got to be dark. “I promise,” he says, his voice soft, thick, deep in his throat. He kisses her softly, then, and the hand she has on his wrist comes up to hold his face there, her thumb brushing against his cheek. 

Okay, but…back to the no underwear thing. _Fuck_. He slides his hand down, his palm molding over the curve of her ass. He feels her gasp into his mouth and smirks against her lips, pushing at the shorts with his wrist without really wanting to move his hand – he growls when they’re not really sliding off and he feels her laugh breathlessly, her mouth sliding down to his neck. “Need help?” She asks, her breath against his skin. He doesn’t even care how it sounds, he lets out a helpless whine and slides his other hand down to rest on her hip.

“Betts,” he tilts his head back, feeling it press against the side of his mattress, “should we,” he swallows and she seems to already know he’s going to ask if they should move to the bed, because she shakes her head. She reaches up over him and he shifts uncomfortably beneath her, feeling how fucking hard he is and knowing she’s been feeling it, too. He watches her – how does she _look_ like that? – as she grabs a pillow off his bed and tosses it onto the floor, then crawls off of him and raises her eyebrow. She shifts so she’s lying back, propped up on her elbows, just waiting for him, shorts slung low on her hips.

 _Fuck_ , fuck, fuck, fuck.

He stares at her for a long moment, his breathing ragged, and when his eyes flick up to hers there’s a smile on her lips. She’s… _Betty_. He runs a hand through his soaked hair and reaches over to his nightstand, pulling open the drawer and grabbing a condom before he makes his way back over to her. He crawls on top of her, leaning down and kissing her deeply, loving the feeling of her arms looping around his neck to pull him closer. “Betty,” he breathes against her mouth, and the noise that she lets out is strangled and sweet. He thinks he might just pass out instead of fucking her the way he wants to.

He sets the condom down off to the side and slides his lips down her body, her neck, her collarbone, his tongue flicking against her nipples, hands sliding down her sides, holding her still as she whines above him. He presses his lips to her stomach, watching as her breath hitches, and hooks his fingers into her shorts, pulling them down and letting her kick them off. 

_God_. He looks up at her, _all_ of her, and he feels a little breathless, a lot dizzy. His skin is suddenly very, very hot again – he notices, too, as he’s skimming down her body, the rivulets of sweat that are dripping off her skin. 

She whines, her hands grabbing at whatever she can reach of him: his chest, his shoulders. “Archie,” she breathes, pushing her hips up. He pushes them back down, moving to kiss her hip bone and dragging his lips down to her inner thigh. She moans, her fingers grabbing his shoulder tight, “Arch, wait,” she sounds different, urgent, and he flicks his eyes up to her, “s’too hot.” He smirks and she lets out a groan, shaking her head, her face pinched, “no, no, I mean,” she pulls on his hair gently, “come _up_ here.” 

He whines softly, but it hits him what it is that she means -- it’s too _hot_ in here -- and so instead of pressing his tongue against her the way he wants, he slides a finger against her teasingly. He lifts himself up to her lips and catches them as she moans into his mouth, her hips following his finger, desperate for more. “Don’t,” she murmurs shakily against his mouth, “don’t mess around, Arch, _please_.” 

“M’not,” he breathes, holding himself up with one arm and pushing his boxers down haphazardly with the other hand, one side at a time. He kicks them off, smiling when he hears her breathlessly laughing, her hands shaking slightly against his shoulders. He watches as she presses her legs together, biting down on her lower lip and then opening them for him, flushing at the sound he lets out. 

He grabs the condom and rips it open with his teeth, thinking she’s about to tell him you’re not supposed to do that -- but instead, she grabs it from him and slides her hand down his chest. His breathing grows heavy as he drops his head down, not knowing if he’s going to be able to watch her fucking do this. He feels her hand wrap around him and lets out a low groan, listening as it mixes with the soft moan she’s got coming from her parted lips. “Betts,” he mutters, “ _you_ can’t mess around, either, c’mon,” he bites out the words a bit unsteadily and he feels her hand trembling as she rolls the condom onto his length, giving him a few soft strokes before sliding her hand back up to his chest, her head tilted back. Her cheeks are red and he knows what she’s thinking because it’s the same thing he’s thinking: _holy fuck_.

“ _Fuck_ , Archie,” she whines, and he buries his face into her sweaty neck, kissing her skin softly as he positions himself. He pulls her by her hips, pressing her legs open a bit further and sliding one hand along her inner thigh gently. “Please,” she breathes, and he groans, lifting his head and pressing his forehead to hers. 

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against hers. She shakes her head. “Betty,” he kisses her soft and slow, then pulls back only slightly. “Look,” he whispers, smiling as he watches her eyes flutter open. He feels one of her hands sliding up to his face and cupping his cheek. She brushes her thumb over his lips and rests it there. He lets out a sound he’s never heard himself make before, something between a moan and a cry, and she gives him an easy smile. 

It’s _Betty_. 

He presses his lips to the pad of her thumb and in the same moment, pushes into her, groaning at how tight, how warm, how _perfect_ she feels. “ _Fuck_ , wait,” she’s flushed, her hand gripping his shoulder, “ _g_ _od_ .” He moves slowly, and she groans, “just,” she presses a hand to his chest and he stops, dipping his head down slightly and pressing a kiss to her wrist. She loops her hands around his neck and rolls her hips slowly against his and murmurs, “go.” He takes in a sharp breath and moves again, pulling out and pushing back into her slowly, _torturously_ , but this time she lets out a moan, “go, Archie,” she breathes, “ _go_.” 

He listens but still moves slowly, wanting to let her adjust but groaning when he feels her nails digging into his skin. “ _Harder_ ,” she whines, her brow furrowed, “come _on,_ I’m not--,” he watches as she slides a hand to his neck, pulling his face down to hers. She lifts her head slightly, catching his lips with her own and then pulling back, sinking her teeth into his lower lip and giving it a tug. “I’m _fine_ ,” she says, her voice strangled. He groans, kissing her roughly and using his free hand to press her leg back further, laughing into her mouth at the noise she makes.

She hooks her leg around his waist and the laugh dies in his throat as he feels himself slipping deeper into her. _Fuck_. How have they not been doing this for years? He feels like he’s going to pass out as his teeth scrape against her skin and her nails slide over the back of his neck, up into his hair. “Fuck,” he breathes against her neck, “fuck, you feel,” he lets out a groan, snapping his hips and smiling at the sound she makes. 

She rolls her hips against his, lifting to meet him thrust for thrust until he’s too fucking close to wait. He slides his hand down between them, pressing his fingers against her clit and circling it slowly. She lets out a soft gasp, her teeth finding the top of his ear and scraping against it, “Archie,” she whines, “ _please_.” 

He abides, for once, circling his fingers around her clit and pumping into her hard, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he feels her tightening around him, “Don’t stop,” she moans in a voice he’s never heard before, “ _t_ _heretherethere_ , _right_ there.”

He doesn’t hear much else, because he’s coming _hard_ and then she’s coming _hard_ holding onto him. She’s moaning into his ear and he’s collapsing onto her and his face is against her neck and her hands are woven into his hair and both of their breathing is absolutely fucked. 

_Fuck_. 

He waits until he feels like he’s not going to die (and until he knows she won’t because she’s been scratching her nails gently over his shoulder blades for a few minutes) before he pulls out, groaning and not missing the little gasp she lets out, the way she moves to press her legs together and _can’t_ because he’s still there. He rolls away from her, tying off the condom and tossing it into his trash before he moves back and lazily pulls her against him. 

“Too hot,” she grumbles, but still buries her head in his neck. 

“Too bad,” he breathes, pressing his face into her hair. He kisses the top of her head. She hums quietly. He feels the fan blowing cool air against his skin and, even though it’s well over ninety degrees in this room alone, he feels her shiver.

“Okay,” he says, after a long few moments of silence. She’d rolled away at one point, but still has her fingers laced with his, and was still still sharing the pillow with him. “You said you wanted to talk. ...Talk.” He feels her press her face against his bicep and laughs softly, squeezing her hand. “I guess I can start…did you really have to wait ‘til the day before you were leaving? We could have been doing that…for _weeks_.”

“Arch,” she laughs against his skin, then grows quiet. She lifts her head so she’s looking at him, “I didn’t want to just…jump into your bed. I…I wanted it to matter.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “It was always going to matter, Betts.” She gives him those soft eyes, bites down on her lower lip. “Besides…we didn’t exactly make it to the bed.”

He laughs as she presses her free forearm over her face. “Not funny,” she mumbles, but she’s laughing. He turns his head and grins.

“Your cheeks beg to differ,” he chuckles, watching them flush a deeper pink. They’re quiet for another few moments until he hears her take a breath. He brushes his fingers against hers and feels her push her fingers back against his.

“Okay,” she says, quietly. “I’m…I just…I’m sorry, Arch. I didn’t…I couldn’t handle it…all of it,” she looks at him, then, and he sees how hard her eyes are pleading with him to understand. 

He focuses on her saying _all of it_ , because he knows what she means – all of their feelings, all of their entanglements, _all_ of it happening at once...and he _does_ understand because he _knows_ her. He gets it: handling all of the feelings they had for one another would have meant blowing up their lives…and even though they’d both gone ahead and done that, anyway, after the shit shows that were Prom and Graduation, she’d needed to work up to it on her own. She’d needed to decide by herself.

Really, he just wishes she would’ve said something about it earlier…he would have given her the space she needed, he would have been waiting, he would have made sure she _heard_ what he was saying – that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, that he couldn’t stop _feeling_ for her. 

But that was then, and this is now, and here they are. 

He gives her hand a light squeeze and leans over, kissing her forehead softly. “I know,” he says, his voice quiet. “I get it.” He feels her let out a breath and scoot a little closer to him, her head pressing into his shoulder.

They’re quiet. He reaches his hand over them and runs his fingers along her forearm, smiling as she leans further into him. He puts his face back into her hair, trying to match their breath, smiling when he feels them fall in sync.

“Can you stay,” he breathes, his eyes shut. She sighs. “I know…it’s your last night.” He feels her nod. He thinks. “But it’s your last night, and I just got you here…so, stay.” She lets out a soft noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, and squeezes his hand. 

“I can stay,” she murmurs. He feels her looking at him and opens his eyes, his face twisting back into a smile as he reaches up and pushes his hair out of his eyes. “One condition, though.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, letting go of her hand and rolling onto his side. He watches as she moves to mirror him, leaning up on her elbow. “What’s that?”

“Open the window,” she wrinkles her nose and he laughs, “it _reeks_ in here.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/cherhasthoughts) or [tumblr](https://bettycooopers.tumblr.com) if you feel like watching me break down in real time!


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